But that was not Great-aunt Geidaro’s choice, evidently.
The phone jangled quietly. Uncle’s Guild-senior picked it up.
“The aiji,” the Guild-senior said, and handed the phone to Uncle.
“Aiji-ma,” Uncle began, and there followed a conversation in which Uncle’s side was, “Yes,” and “We have,” and “Yes.”
Phones were not safe for secrets, but they could bring bad news. Uncle listened for a space, and then nodded grimly.
Cajeiri waited, his heart beating fast.
“The Guild Council has ruled,” Uncle said, handing back the phone. “The Guild will be in communication with Dur as well as Taiben and with us. The Filing is accepted.”
It was happening, then. Shishogi had ruled the lords of Ajuri for all his life, for all Mother’s life, and whoever was lord of Ajuri had done what the old man demanded. And Great-aunt Geidaro might think she could go on as she always had, making people afraid, threatening them—killing people, maybe with what was left of the Shadow Guild trying to support her as the last connection with their old power. The Shadow Guild might have its nests down in the Marid, but with Kadagidi under Guild watch, maybe Great-aunt Geidaro, in the heart of the aishidi’tat, was what they had.
But she was not, after all, Shishogi. Shishogi had been so quiet nobody had ever thought he was in charge of anything. He never would have come into Uncle’s hall making threats.
Maybe that was why nobody had ever taken Great-aunt Geidaro seriously—except people inside Ajuri who knew she was in touch with power that killed people. To everybody else she was just a fussy old woman who wanted to be important. And she was both. And cared nothing for what it cost others.
Now she and the Shadow Guild or whatever was left of them were trying to settle in Ajuri, and threatening his mother, his father, his sister, his great-uncle, his household; and he looked at the oncoming twilight with mixed dread and hope. Guild on both sides might use the gathering dark to start moving on whatever they intended to do, and Cajeiri sat quietly, thinking about that big black block of a building in Shejidan, and people meeting inside it who had agreed they should set Great-uncle’s Filing in motion and do something. He sat willing the Guild Council to speed their response, stop sending messages back and forth and do something, finally, to stop Geidaro. The mess had been going on in Ajuri all his life and mother’s. And it was the Guild’s own internal problem that had let it all happen.
Now—they just had to stop it, here, around a bus and a bridge. The Guild Council should see that.
But he had been around politics every waking moment of his life, too, and somebody was bound to argue they could not have two clans in the Padi Valley sitting leaderless, while they sifted through records for more cases.
Well, they had that situation now. Great-aunt Geidaro was not even a lord. She had just taken over, a caretaker who had been caretaking every time a lord of Ajuri died, never anything official. Geidaro had been running things for years and years, behind Grandfather, behind all the lords that had died. They had lived so long as they did what they were told, and they died when they failed, as simple as that.
And she was just old, and bad-tempered, and people gave way to her and tried to satisfy her. She had complained, complained, complained while she had been in the Bujavid, about little things. It was too hot. It was too cold. Her mattress was uncomfortable. Her servants were clumsy. Everyone should just go on and not worry about her. She was used to discomfort.
It was all, one could suspect, a way of making people pay attention to the stupid things she was complaining about, and not pay attention to what she was up to. Everybody who met her agreed she was a pain and a trouble, but nobody in the Bujavid had ever suspected her of murder . . . until Father threw Grandfather out, and Great-aunt Geidaro and every other Ajuri with her.
So they had not had to listen to her, or meet her, until she had shown up at Tirnamardi, with that awful sharp voice that just cut to the nerves. It was easy to hate dealing with her.
And was she really behind all the bad things? It could not be the nephew she was asking Uncle to nominate—unless they both were good at hiding how smart they were. It could not be Aunt Meisi, whose interests ran to pretty clothes and jewelry; and it could not be Dejaja, who was young, and nicer than all the rest.
No, the one old enough to be the center of it was Geidaro: Uncle was as old, and he was sure Uncle was not mistaken.
Could Nomari turn out worse? Or as bad? That, he saw in terms of the map he kept, with all the pins. His connection with Machigi could tie very old troubles to the heart of the aishidi’tat—or it could be a way to keep Machigi quiet, content to have an ally with relatives in the Bujavid.
If Nomari turned on them, then he would File, he swore he would. He was years from having the legal standing—but he could move those that had. He had moved one of them, with that phone call to Dur, with a little yellow plane that was winging its way toward the trouble on the road.
And mani might say he was wrong to ask Dur to involve itself. He saw her across the chessboard saying, “When you bring your hand near a piece, Great-grandson, you betray your thinking. Keep your hands in your lap. Unless you wish to deceive.”
Deception had nothing to do with this. He had people of his man’chi on that bus, and he wanted them safe.
Whatever it took.
• • •
Supper was light, from Francis House kitchens, simple sandwiches. They had ordered it that way, on what had been a long day, a second session with Mospheiran security—leading up to a stressful, perhaps a long, evening. The television had been on at low volume all evening to catch any change in broadcast plans. But none came. And toward the end of supper, there came an advisement that they were airing the promised documentary in fifteen minutes. That was as scheduled, no surprises.
Silently they took places within view of the television and turned up the sound. Banichi and the others, having seen it before, with Bren translating, settled to view it again, with occasional hushed comments or questions on subsequent thoughts.
There were no alterations in what they had seen. It ran in its entirety, nothing added, nothing edited out. It finished.
And immediately, Mospheiran to the hilt, the network provided a panel of people to talk about it.
“Who are these people?” was Jago’s logical and suspicious question.
“Heads of guilds?” was Tano’s guess.
One could wish it were so easily explained. “Political leaders. A teacher of science. A person to ask the questions. An advocate at law. And the head of a citizen association.”
“Have they legal standing?” Tano asked.
“No,” Bren said. “They simply discuss. There is no legal standing of the group. The television directors have assembled them.”
“Then they do not vote.”
“They do not vote,” Bren said. “But they may influence opinion.”
His aishid was doubtful. But the discussion opened. There were remarks considering the kyo—images flashed up, so his aishid had no difficulty understanding the topic. The matter of the Reunioners came up, and, God help them, the network’s rehash of the petal sail landing of two hundred years ago, with questions about the return of the ship . . .
Which could get into difficult and emotional territory. The citizen association seemed bent on taking it there, talking about expense, and privilege . . .
But the breaking news flasher came up, along with the Mospheiran Space emblem, and then the image of the station in orbit—fading to Gin, at her desk, with that emblem on the wall behind her.
“This is a live broadcast,” a male voice said, “from the office of the Mospheiran stationmaster, Dr. Virginia Kroger.”
Suddenly the brief interlude with the network analysts made a certain, calculating sense. Time for the pollsters to take the temperature of public opinion
after the documentary. Time for Shawn’s office, and Gin’s, to assemble the pieces of their own response, virtually on the fly.
“Good evening, Earth,” Gin began. “Grim as it’s been up here, we’re making progress. Rapid progress. We have, first of all, improved water access and sanitation, we’re delivering health care, and people are getting fed. This is drawing on emergency supplies from both sides of the station, but we have undertakings from the atevi stationmaster that they will devote one flight out of four to foodstuffs and critical supplies, as we work to improve conditions.
“There is, over all, optimism up here. Having met the neighbors, we can say they are different, very advanced, and not easy to understand. Let me talk about that.
“First, they don’t want close neighbors. They indicate they want us to stay out of their space and not try to visit them, though we now have the ability to communicate with them.
“This suits us very well. They don’t want profound changes in their way of doing things any more than we do . . . there’s certainly no way we can live together, or share an environment with them. They can’t be comfortable in our environment, and we can’t be comfortable in theirs. We can stand it for short periods, but certainly not long-term.
“So never think they plan to move in—Which is a good thing, because we simply cannot match their ships. We can see what they do. The science by which they do it indicates to us that we have a lot left to discover in the realm of physics, and that we can be very glad they don’t want war or territory. On the other hand, they do not regard us as backward savages: they are very pleased with the notion that here are two species sharing a world and being reasonable toward each other. That seems to give them a good impression of our character, which gives us a good impression of theirs. And there is the remote possibility, eventually, of a limited trade, likely at the site of what was Reunion Station, which we have agreed upon as a boundary point between our territories.
“We have been further into their territory than they were willing to tolerate, and thanks to skills we have, and they clearly admire—we were able to communicate with them, talk with them, and reassure each other, and arrange an agreement by which we assure each other’s safety, now and for the future.
“But what they did not see, and what we were very anxious they not see—when the kyo ship appeared inbound toward the station, at the very critical hour that we needed to organize a mode of contact with a foreign power which, in a misunderstanding, could attack and destroy us—we were presented a crisis in leadership on the human side of the station that set us all on the brink of disaster.
“Fortunately the atevi stationmaster very quickly contacted both President Tyers and the aiji in Shejidan, to assemble the same team that had dealt with the kyo and achieved peaceful contact at Reunion. Paidhi Bren Cameron, under dual authority of President Tyers and Tabini-aiji, along with the aiji-dowager and the aiji’s young son, representing the aishidi’tat, commandeered the next shuttle to launch and arrived on the station to take over contact. When they arrived, the human-side administration resisted and obstructed—to such an extent that conditions on the human side of the station headed for an environmental breakdown—and created a situation which threatened to meet the kyo with a station half in collapse.
“Considering that the key to successful negotiations with the kyo was the demonstrated cooperation of our two species, this could not be tolerated.
“Mr. Cameron and the atevi delegation took temporary command of station communications in order to open dialog with the kyo. They likewise cooperated with ship command in stabilizing the antiquated area of the station that Stationmaster Tillington had opened to house the Reunion refugees, an area he had sealed at the kyo approach, compounding the strain on already chancy systems, which resulted in breakdowns in water and air, putting life support systems for the refugees, including families and children, on the brink of failure. This had to be addressed as an emergency while Mr. Cameron and the atevi delegation were actually dealing with the kyo visitors, and while they were trying to present the status of our world as a peaceful and civilized place.
“The visitors have departed peaceably. We are now engaged in a program designed to increase supply and lessen demand of life-critical materials for all station residents, in all areas. Unfortunately, the area of the station where the refugees are housed is the oldest part of the station, scheduled for renovation even before the arrival of the refugees, and constantly plagued with mechanical emergencies. The station was not designed to support its current human population, and the faster we can bring down the number of Reunion refugees—their number includes children as young as two months—and eliminate the strain on station resources, the sooner we can repair broken systems, shut down the hazards pending repair, and restore everybody up here to reasonable and safe living conditions.
“The emergency aloft is over, but critical operations remain, and we remain seriously overcrowded. I am grateful to President Tyers, the Committee on Science, the Justice Department, and the State Department for unwavering support. I am also grateful to my opposite number, Stationmaster Geigi, who has worked out a schedule involving the atevi shuttle fleet that will get vital supplies to both sides of the station, while reserving downbound shuttle space for special cargo and passengers. Right now the overcrowding is stressing systems, and we have an urgent need to bring the population level down to what is safe and useful. The refugees, only five thousand in number, are a drop in the bucket on the island, but more than we can support up here. So we will be sending them down in small groups, whenever we can find shuttle space, and we are working on that. We will be landing some of the refugees on the mainland and ferrying them to the island, courtesy of the aiji, at his expense, since our shuttle space is less than the mainland’s. We will be parachuting other cargo and materials down to mainland wilderness drop zones, because there is some imprecision in such landings and we have no wish to drop a cargo on a town. The aiji will ship Mospheiran freight over to Port Jackson, also at his expense. For all this, we thank Lord Geigi, the aiji-dowager, and the aiji in Shejidan. Our atevi neighbors share the station and share its risks, and in this case, they are contributing to its relief for everybody’s benefit.
“In short, we are back in business up here. Production is getting underway, shuttles will be lifting foodstuff and other essentials for life, and station-based companies will be sending our goods down. The station is safe, and restoration of normal operations will be a top priority.
“As for the refugees, there are five thousand to come, no more than a large village, to live their lives, and lend their skills and knowledge to their new home. They have yet to discover what a sunrise is like. The world will get the benefit of their science, their energy, and their knowledge of a region of space bordering our new allies.
“We look forward to resuming ordinary operations in every respect. We look forward to an era of cooperation with our neighbors the aishidi’tat.
“Thank you and good evening.”
It had all been too fast a flow to translate as it went, but they all had been there. His aishid understood more Mosphei’ than they spoke. They had to know the topics, at least.
But now the Presidential seal flashed up, the five-pointed star in a triple ring.
“Shawn-aiji,” Bren said, and the seal gave way to Shawn’s office, and Shawn at his desk, with that symbol on the wall behind him. The screen split to Gin in her office, then to a white-haired, prosperous looking old man Bren did not immediately recognize, in a book-lined office that was clearly not the space station.
“Thank you, Dr. Kroger,” Shawn said, “for a difficult and dangerous job well-done. And you have the support of the Mospheiran people for the job that follows.
“I’m pleased now to introduce Mr. Maarten Aslund, Senior Chairman of Asgard Corporation, who also has a statement.”
God. Maarten Aslund. Publicly with Shawn on this one? Br
en drew in a deep breath and hoped for the best.
“Mr. President,” Maarten Aslund said. “My brother Simon, my sister Elisabeth and I are in full support of the administration’s quick action, and in equally full support of Dr. Kroger’s initiative to stabilize the station operations. We are proud of the role Asgard Space has played in support of Dr. Kroger, and notably in the rescue of valuable documents and knowledge—”
God, Shawn, I so hope you haven’t gotten in bed with the devil on this one . . .
“—which might have been lost with Reunion, a wealth of industrial and scientific material developed over two centuries of independent space-based research . . .”
Never mind Asgard and Asgard Space had had a corporate war over Asgard Space’s refusal to run major decisions past Asgard’s board.
“We commend Asgard Space for its efforts in this regard, and we are pleased to say that Asgard Space has helped create a legal framework within which this material can be used, creating jobs, and offering new processes and materials for the betterment of lives on Earth, while safeguarding the interests of those who rescued this science from the disaster at Reunion and brought it safely to us.
“We are pleased to announce a grant for the handling of such documents which may be in fragmentary condition, and for interviews to preserve the memory of Reunion survivors whose experience in these areas of manufacture may be helpful, before their memories dim.
“We also applaud the President, the station administration and ship command for steps taken to recover and preserve information on our recent visitors. We enthusiastically support the treaty terms and the legal settlement of the Andressen papers and we hail Dr. Kroger’s legal initiative as a just and fair solution. Mr. President, thank you.”
Shawn nodded benignly.
“Mr. Aslund, we welcome your support. My fellow citizens, if you have questions, there will be a televised open-line forum tomorrow at noon, with various experts accessible.